“You suppose that smell is ever going to come out?” he asked.

Jalie shrugged, nonchalant. “Maybe. Maybe not. Toss me my bag, will you?”

Andrew pulled her duffle bag from the trunk and dropped it to the dirt at his feet. “Come pick it up, hot stuff.” He watched Jalie, smirking. She marched over to him and with one good shove, pushed him into the trunk, slamming the lid on him. She picked up her bag and made her way into the house with the sounds of Andrew’s screams emanating from the trunk.

Previously…

The lights of Las Vegas were twinkling as the convertible tore through the desert, making it’s way to the strip. Both Andrew and Jalie were already exhausted from the journey, but the prospect of finding out exactly what mistakes (or triumphs, in Andrew’s case) were made was giving them a second wind. When they made it into the city limits, Andrew directed the car to a side street that cut to the right of the strip. Jalie had found a matchbook from the hotel they’d booked tucked into the pocket of her jeans. Ten minutes later, Andrew pulled into the parking lot of the Morning After Motel. The building was five stories tall, forming a U shape around a pool that looked like a Louisiana swamp. The sign towering above them advertised hourly rates and ‘no questions asked’. The two of them climbed out of the car, Andrew locking the doors but leaving the top down. They walked inside the lobby and Jalie stifled a scream. It was packed, corner to corner, with Elvis impersonators. A large cardboard sign was propped against the concierge desk advertising the 18th annual Kings of Diabetes Convention. On closer inspection, each Elvis seemed to be afflicted by the disease and was showing it in small ways – many were obese, some were clutching bags of sugar free candy, and one was missing his left foot. Each Elvis turned to Jalie like clockwork, hitched up their pants, and said “Hey there, babeh” in varying accents. Jalie turned and made to dart back out the door but Andrew grabbed her around the waist and made her turn back.

“Keep it together,” Andrew muttered, eyeing the Presley’s warily.

Jalie took a deep breath and sidled past the group toward the counter. The concierge was a mountain of a man. He had wild red hair, a thick red beard, and was sporting very large aviator sunglasses. He slid the glasses down his nose and fixed Jalie with a curious stare.

“Didn’t think I’d see you two back here any time soon. Come to clear up your bill?” he asked. At seeing Jalie’s suddenly panicked expression, he laughed. “I’m just fucking with you. Ever since you two trashed that room we jacked up the price and started advertising it as a tourist attraction. Doesn’t pull in a huge crowd, but we get the occasional RWA fan that wants to sleep in the same mattress fort as the dynamic duo.”

Andrew perked up. “They’re calling us the dynamic duo?”

The concierge snorted. “No. I called you that. The only things I’ve heard people call you two aren’t words I feel comfortable repeating in front of a lady.”

Andrew burst out laughing. Jalie was blushing. Finally she stomped on Andrew’s foot in an attempt to get him to shut up, but was unsuccessful.

“He called you a lady!” Andrew giggled.

The concierge turned his attention to Jalie. “Is he fucking retarded?” he asked.

“The jury’s still out on that one.” Jalie said with a sigh. “Look, we just need to get in the room for a few minutes. I think I left some things in there.”

“Fine. Here’s the key. I wouldn’t hold out much hope for anything valuable, though.”

Jalie took the key and headed for the stairs. Andrew trailed along behind her, still snickering. The two of them made their way to the fifth floor and down the hall. Jalie unlocked the door to room 503 and stepped in, her boots crunching on bits of broken glass. Andrew pushed past her to stand in front of the mattress and box spring, still leaning against one another in a makeshift tent.

“So this is where the magic happened.” he said, winking.

Jalie rolled her eyes. She walked slowly around the room, searching for anything that might give them some sort of clue. She began opening drawers while Andrew crawled inside the tent.

“It smells like sex in here.” he said simply.

Jalie reached in one of the drawers and removed the bible. With a huff, she tossed it to the floor, where it flopped open, revealing a chunk of the pages cut out to conceal a videotape. Andrew’s eyes fell on it and he dove out of the tent to grab it. Not wasting a second, he crammed it into the VCR on top of the television and pressed play. The tape appeared to be a copy of the one Jalie had smashed back in Detroit. Andrew, growing impatient, pressed fast forward until it reached the point where the two of them had been wrestling on the carpet. Jalie stood transfixed as she watched herself on screen, kissing Barnes. Andrew, sitting in front of the TV, was grinning widely. His grin disappeared, however, when he watched Jalie biting his lower lip until she drew blood. She leapt off of him, laughing maniacally, while he cursed and covered his face. The hooker, who had until then been lying motionless on the floor, began to stir. She propped herself up using her one arm and looked at the room around her, her eyes finally resting on Andrew and then Jalie.

“I’m done,” she said, “You two are fucking crazy. Where’s my goddamn arm?!”

Jalie picked up the prosthetic from the floor and swung it lightly back and forth. “You mean this one?” she asked.

The hooker glared at her and got to her feet. Jalie casually stepped over to the window. The hooker followed her warily. Jalie continued to wave it side to side, holding it above her head and laughing as the one-armed prostitute tried to grab it from her. Jalie tossed it to Andrew, who was finally on his feet and had seemingly forgotten about his bloodied lip. The hooker walked toward him, reaching him just as he tossed the arm back to Jalie. They continued the cruel game of keep away until, with one strong throw, Andrew pitched it back toward Jalie but missed, and instead flung it out the open window. The hooker, so intent on catching it, stumbled at the window sill and lost her balance; she pitched forward out of the window. Jalie and Andrew rushed to the window just as a sickening thud was heard. Jalie clapped a hand over her mouth to avoid gagging. Andrew chuckled and then threw up. In a drunken haze, Jalie stumbled to the camera and knocked it off the bedside table, making the screen go black.

Back in the present, Jalie and Andrew were staring blankly at each other. Quickly they both rushed to the window, peeking down below as if the body might still be lying there. All they saw was a splotch of red. Andrew started to speak but was cut off when the television screen sparked back to life and the two of them turned to watch.

Jalie seemed to be holding the camera this time. They were in the convertible, Jalie in the back seat, Andrew driving, flying down a deserted highway in the middle of the desert. The car hit a pothold and Jalie fumbled the camera. She got a death grip on the back seat, her hands bloody. Andrew’s voice could be heard over the wind, shouting “Here looks good!”.

The car suddenly swerved left into the vast expanse of dirt. Jalie picked the camera up once more. She was giggling, apparently enjoying the ride. After a few more minutes of pointless weaving in the sand at 80 miles and hour, Andrew hit the brakes, sending the car swerving violently and Jalie flying into the front seat. She sat up, still gripping the camera. Jalie hopped over the door and ran around to the back of the car, the camera shaking nauseatingly. Andrew appeared beside her and popped open the trunk. Both of them gagged and covered their noses. Inside the trunk was a lumpy black trash bag, two gallons of bleach, a shovel, a bag of ice and a bucket of instant margarita mix. Andrew grabbed the shovel and got to work digging a hole as Jalie began mixing drinks. This went on for around thirty minutes – Jalie drinking, Andrew digging and occasionally pausing to down a margarita. Finally he grabbed the lumpy black bundle. He opened the bag up, winced, and looked at Jalie.

“What are we supposed to do with the bleach?” he asked.

Jalie shrugged. “I don’t know. I just always heard you’re supposed to use bleach. Just pour it on the bitch. I don’t think she’ll mind.” Jalie said casually.

Andrew uncapped the two jugs of bleach and poured them into the bag. He tied it back up and dropped it into the hole with a sloshing noise. Jalie set the camera down and began helping him fill in the makeshift grave. When the hole was filled, the margaritas were gone, and the batteries in the camcorder were dying, they climbed back into the car, sweaty and full of the satisfied feeling you get after a day’s hard work. Jalie turned the camera to face her, looking confused.

“What’s the red light?” she asked.

“That means it’s recording.” Andrew explained.

Jalie’s eyes grew wide. Cursing, she smacked the camera against the dashboard until the screen went black.

Back in the hotel room, Jalie and Andrew were sitting on the floor in front of the TV. Jalie was chewing her thumbnail and looking conflicted.

“We killed a hooker.” Andrew stated.

Jalie nodded.

“We killed a hooker.” Andrew repeated.

Jalie nodded again.

“WE KILLED A FUCKING HOO-”

Jalie slapped him. He glared at her. She stood and popped the tape out of the VCR, tucking it in her back pocket. Andrew got to his feet and the two of them hustled out of the room and back downstairs. Jalie tossed the key onto the concierge’s desk. He didn’t notice them leaving. He was preoccupied because one of the larger King’s had seemingly slipped into a coma. They rushed outside into the blistering heat and got back in the car.

Flash forward…

Back in Detroit, Andrew’s house was peacefully quiet. Jalie was sitting on his couch, sipping a beer and waiting for the impending shit storm that was an angry Barnes. With a blast like thunder the front door swung open and hit the opposite wall. Andrew was standing there looking furious.

“I just had to destroy my own trunk to free myself. That car is a classic!” he roared.

“I thought it had a trunk release latch?” Jalie asked.

Andrew’s eyes became suddenly shifty.

“I, uh, removed it. For… Security reasons.” He muttered.

His fury forgotten, he dropped onto the couch beside her and took the beer.

“You know we can never speak of this to anyone.” Jalie pointed out.

Andrew nodded. After a moment he frowned. “I really thought I boned you.” he said sadly.

Jalie patted his hand in a reassuring way. “Sorry, buddy.”

Well believe it or not I actually have to agree with Andrew in the fact that our opponents this week are actually… well, likable. It’s hard to want to beat the living hell out of someone when you’re considering scoring weed from them after the show. So how does this work out? Quite simple, really. It’s all a matter of business. Win or lose, I still get a check at the end of the week. I do my best work when I genuinely loathe the person standing across the ring from me. But let’s be honest… How long has it been since I actually put forth any full amount of effort into anything? Some people might say it’s the booze, or the drugs, or even married life. The fact is, though, I was drunk and high off my ass when I entered this business in the first place. And to anyone who thinks being with Seth has mellowed me out, well, they clearly are unaware that some of my most violent activities have been against my dear husband. And vice versa. But I digress.

This week my only ambition is to stay awake in the ring. I’d also like to be able to walk back to my car afterward. I’m pretty sure I can manage that. And if not, well, fuck it. Congratulations to the Baldwin boys. I really liked Nick in Bio-Dome.